Susan woke with a grunt. She lay propped up in bed, partly by pillows, but mostly by the thick stack of rolls collected below the soft mounds that could once have been called shoulders. They, in turn, rested on the enormous, cellulite-dimpled shelf of her ass; and what an ass it was. Always her most prominent feature, despite fierce competition from her massively expanded belly, Susan’s posterior had grown ever larger in her self-imposed bed rest, forming a clifflike expanse of white flesh that spread wide across the superking mattress. Technically she was still on her side of the bed, but the encroachments to Greg’s side went unchallenged – Greg had abandoned the diminishing space over a week ago, unwilling to share a bed with the stinking mass of his wife. The crevice at the bottom of her chalky behind was more often than not filled with filth – every day it seemed Susan had less control over the workings of her bowels - to the point that her maids now covered the surfaces beneath her with plastic sheeting. Susan had grown so broad that the jiggly span of her hips and buttocks was starting to hang off one edge of the mattress, and was mere inches away from the other.

...

“What took you so long?” Susan cried plaintively, “I’m starving” ignoring the fact that under a minute earlier she had been stuffing her face. Maria knew better than to answer that and instead started unloading the trolley, with Tabitha and Clara’s help. As soon as they got food into her trough Susan’s inexhaustible gluttony began anew. She shovelled the calorific confectionary into her drooling maw, not caring about the splatters of cream and sauce that decorated her face.

...

A deep gurgle resounded from the depths of Susan’s gut, and she let out a small moan. She continued to gobble down the chocolate at breakneck pace, but whimpered as the noise came again.

PPFFFFFTTTTT

The high pitched sound of the fart that accompanied the next gurgle would have probably been amusing under other circumstances. The cloying and rancid stench it released into the heady air of the bedroom killed any laughter from the maids; Susan, of course, didn’t seem to notice. She continued spooning scoops of the syrupy gloop from the trough into her gaping maw, heedless of the trail of mess the overloaded ladle dripped across her flabby torso. The next massive swallow elicited yet another gurgle from her overstuffed midsection, loud enough to make her pause.

“Ughf… Clara, rub my tummy – it hurts” she whined petulantly, “rub it better for me”

“Yes Miss Susan”, Clara sighed. Despite the pain Susan didn’t stop eating – the idea that the nutritionless mulch of sugar and empty calories she was shovelling into her overfed body might be causing her discomfort never crossed her empty mind. Her daily diet of processed food, saturated fats and over-refined rubbish, supplemented with rivers of greases, creams and syrups, was absolute murder on the ruins of her digestive system.

Clara knelt in front of the bed, looking up at Susan’s massive belly. It lay sagging between the flabby cylinders of her legs like an immense sack of grain, a solid ball of lard covered in a thick coating of jello. Even now, stuffed to bursting, it jiggled and quivered as Susan fed her face. Tentatively Clara placed her hands on the wobbling flesh, rubbing and massaging as her mistress glutted. She was appalled at the smell seeping from Susan’s rolls, and how far he hands sank into the flab. Susan couldn’t see the disgust on her face, the horizon of her belly hid Clara from view as she kneaded Susan’s spongy rolls. Susan’s behind grumbled as her maid gingerly groped her sweaty blubber.

FFFRRRTTTT

As she worked through the extra food Susan finally slowed. Emptying the third trough, it was time for the one moment of exertion that remained in Susan’s day, the isolated isle of effort in her lifestyle of gluttonous and hedonistic idleness: her daily shower. Every day, after the hours-long glut that was Susan’s monstrous breakfast, her maids would pull up her immense body from the sanctuary of the bed and shepherd their enormous charge to the bathroom, where they would dutifully wash her vast and bloated form. Every day, however, she’d gotten a lazier, weaker, and more self-indulgent.